


It's Never Easy

by WatchOverYourAssButt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bi!Dean, Bisexual Dean, Brief suicidal thoughts, Castiel Feeling Unrequited, Castiel Questioning, Castiel Realizing His Feelings, Curiosity, Dean x OCs, Depressive Thoughts Due to Confusion, Eventual Heated Destiel, Exploring Dean's Realization and Struggling with his Sexuality, M/M, Questioning Dean, Sexual Experimentation, Shipper!Sam, Some Heated Kissing and a HandJob, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 14:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7109455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchOverYourAssButt/pseuds/WatchOverYourAssButt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short exploration of Dean and Castiel's experiences with their sexuality, and how that leads into them finally realizing what they feel for one another. First chapter focuses on Dean's confusion and questioning in his life, the second is Castiel realizing his own feelings. The rest will it all finally coming to a head between them, probably encouraged by Sam XD</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Never Easy

**Author's Note:**

> This started as just wanting to explore Dean's experience of questioning himself, but Heather convinced me to write unrequited-in-love Cas, so yeah, this is becoming a little longer. Enjoy~

 

 

 

Dean was on one of his first hunts with his dad when the questions first came. It really shouldn’t have taken this long for the question to pop up, he might’ve thought if he’d been honest enough with himself to not deny it ever happening. But then again his life had been all Monsters Under the Bed and Protect Sammy that it took him coming of such an age to be considered man enough for the situation to present itself.

The question didn’t come on his first hunt, when John had brought him to a bar that was near their hotel so his father could drink the hunters’ high away to get enough sleep to be prepared for the next morning for whatever may present itself. Even if that older man across the bar with the tattoos had been eyeing him with too unnerving an interests, offering too many smirks, the thought hadn’t come then.

Not even when his father and him had helped a family who’s teen boy had been seeing another guy without their knowing that turned out to be a maliciously intending Skin Walker, though Dean remembered how his father didn’t seem to disagree or argue against the parents’ judgment and outrage and worry over the boys secret sexuality just nearly as much as his secret relationship with a monster.

It didn’t even present itself when he’d overhear his father talking with other visiting hunters working on a case with him, or just catching up if not coming for some kind of help. They’re conversations always consisted more consistently of either serious monster talk, or one-up stories from past jobs. But now and again, just now and again, there would be talks of the women. The ones they crossed, the ones they saved, the ones that were sweet on them, or nice and ‘thankful’. He didn’t hear it as often from his father. A joke, a laugh, and maybe one or two admittances here and there, Dean almost always shut down hearing that because no, mom was the only woman for dad and dad shouldn’t be talking about other women.

But he knew how the men, the hunters, were with women. They were smooth, they were confident, they admired and craved and praised the female persuasion so heavily; they were men, and those that took their fancy or attracted them or fulfilled whatever needs were beautiful women, more often the damsels, though now and again they’d brag about a tough one or two.

And with his father being his only consistent and seemingly appropriate role-model, plus the men he surrounded himself with? Dean had no example of anything different other than it being talked about on TV or in passing, much less any inclining of how it might be received of him.

So maybe, if he had let himself, he could have considered that maybe his upbringing and surroundings left him unable to really explore it of himself. Maybe he could have realized why he avoided it. But realizing that could mean going against his father.

He couldn’t do that.

So the question came around age sixteen. He’d never even kissed anyone, how could he even define anything relating to that crap when he’d barely experienced it?

He’d seen enough pretty girls, sure. Had enough celebrity crushes and personal, sexual frustration with said celebrities; all this, enough to make him know, automatically, he was just the same as his father and other hunters. He was a man’s man, he liked women. He never thought to dwell on the fact that he ever questioned that in any way, shape, or form. The flush to his cheeks or heat to his stomach seemed to say enough. And his dad treated it like it was normal, if Dean ever spoke anything about anyone he’d felt attraction to (there were more important things to talk about).

So the question was confusing when it first came.

Because there was that guy he’d passed when he was moving some of their stuff from the Impala to the new hotel they were staying in. Sammy was settled in the house watching TV, his father was finishing paying for how long they’d be staying, and Dean was tasked with the boxes.

That guy, maybe a year or two older than Dean, was just passing by. Dean barely noticed him, spotting him over the trunk of the car as he just decided to take out the last few boxes and shut the trunk and take the boxes one by one. He’d spotted the guy, as he’d shut the trunk; he didn’t really stand out much, but to Dean he had; with strong features, and dyed hair. He’d excused it as him just being taken aback by the vibrant purple shade of the guys tips. He didn’t really think too much about how he scanned the strong jawline, or the perfect nose, or the tattoos itching up past his collar. Dean just excused it as keeping a watch out—he was a hunter, he watched for suspicious suspects or behavior. The guy had just continued on, seeming like he was going to the front himself, for something. Dean just assumed he was another person staying here, and left it at that.

Dean had got the second to last box moved and was coming back for the last, lifting it up only to realize his grip hadn’t been right, and the box toppled out of his arms, dumping half of its contents onto the asphalt.

“Damn it.” He muttered, sighing heavily and bending down to quickly recover the books, the butterfly knife, and a few pictures.

“Need some help there?”

The voice was unfamiliar; deep yet softly smooth, and his gaze shot up to rest upon the dyed guy from before. The lump in his throat which he swallowed down certainly confused him, only briefly, as his eyes dropped from the deep, golden brown gaze.

“Nah, I’m-I’m fine. Almost got it.” He assured the guy, brushing it all back in the box.

He saw a hand reach out for the butterfly knife before he could grab it and he stiffened as he watched black-nailed finger tips trailing it only for them to grasp hold and offer the item to Dean. He looked up to see the guy was smirking, and he wasn’t entirely sure. It made him uncomfortable…unnerved him, it felt like. He took the knife quickly, stowing it in the box.

“…Thanks.”

“Nice knife.” He commented. “Know how to use it?”

Dean watched him a moment longer, considering this guy’s curiosity. Something was off with the signals he was getting from this dude. The smile was too...different, he wasn’t sure how. It wasn’t the kindly smile of a helpful citizen, but it wasn’t malicious, and he’d already seen enough of those creepy, ‘I’m gonna carve you up’ smiles. It reminded him of something…how some people would smile at him, almost admiringly, in passing. Girls would.

Considering whether this guy was smiling for the same reason as those girls, he felt a heat to his neck and stood with the box. “Yeah, why?” he questioned, a slight defensiveness in his tone.

The guy chuckled, and it made Dean’s neck feel a little hotter. “Nothing, I’ve just always been impressed with people who could manage to use those. I’d sooner cut the shit out of my hand trying.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh, lips pulling into a faint smirk. “It ain’t that hard, actually. Just gotta be familiar with how it works, how it moves, and you just gotta move with it.”

“Oh?” he quirked a brow, seeming impressed. “Well then, I’ll consider that in the future, if I ever come across one of those again. So…” he glanced back to the open door, then back to Dean. “You staying here for a while or something?”

“Dad’s got some work to do in the area, and we don’t have any family or friends close enough, so this was our best option.” He shrugged, half lying.

“Well, I’m staying here for a little while, too. Upstairs just above and next door to you, actually.”

Dean nodded faintly, wondering why he was telling him this. And why he was still faintly smiling at Dean. And why Dean still wore the hints of a smirk himself.

“Maybe I’ll see you again?”

Dean shrugged, looking over the Impala, trying to act all cool. “Maybe.”

The guy chuckled again, and it made Dean smirk. “Ah, I see. Well, until then. My names’ Anthony, by the way.”

“Dean.” He offered his name, barely even thinking of whether they were meant to be lying about their identities. Well, his father hadn’t warned him to, so maybe he didn’t need to.

“Alright, then. I’ll see you, Dean.” The Anthony guy offered him a last smile and a little wave before making his way to the stairs leading to the upper apartments.

And as Dean brought in the last box and was met with Sam’s asking for something to eat, he absentmindedly wondered to himself, why his neck still felt hot. Why had that guy…been like that to him? It seemed like it could have been…interest, but shouldn’t Dean be freaked out by that? Part of him was, but it was that part of him that also advised him on what this monster does to victims or what that monster is weak against; that part of him who’s voice always resembled his fathers. Beyond that, he felt flattered, and he couldn’t help but think about the guys wild hair, his brown eyes, that sharp jaw.

As he finished making some pop-tarts for Sam, and started sifting through what needed to be pulled out of the boxes, he couldn’t help but silently ask himself…was he, himself, showing interest back there? Was it even possible?

Maybe it wasn’t, at least for him. He didn’t swing that way. Maybe it was just the hair standing out, and hell, maybe the guys features were just…too pretty, perhaps. Feminine (that was a weak argument, he knew). Or hell, maybe it’s just normal for guys to be able to assess when another person of the same gender had nice features. Didn’t mean anything, right?

But that laugh… Why should the guys laugh even been an attribute to what had caused that little warmth in Dean?

It was all too confusing and just weird, so when his father returned to the room and shut and locked the door, he completely abandoned all such thoughts, letting them die out through the rest of the day.

Dean never really saw the guy again, unless he was looking out the window, waiting for their dad to be back. He was either watching Sammy, doing research, or he was gone with his dad, and never did he run into Anthony again.

He disregarded the disappointment, reminding himself; there are more important things.

 

Next time was another questioning experience, and a little more personal. And far less of a private moment than it should have been. His father hadn’t been present; that was all he could be thankful for. Otherwise, it wasn’t the best moment for him; it had been too confusing, and turned out too negative to really be considered as any evidence of anything.

It had been another hunter, his age. They’d only met once or twice, but Dean’s father and his had worked together on a decent few hunts. They were all working together on a ghost problem. They’d thought it had been something more powerful, like a poltergeist, but it turned that the kids in the family were provoking the ghost further than they should have. It had been simple enough, once they’d gotten rid of their Ouija board and salted and burned the remains.

Dean and the other young hunter, Jason, had been packing away stuff into the separate cars as their fathers finished up with the families. They were both running on the high from the hunt, really pumped and proud of themselves. Dean hadn’t expected what would come, nor how he’d be done wrong because of it.

“That was wild, man! Did you see that swipe I made at that ghost with the iron bar?” Jason chuckled proudly, giving Dean’s arm a slap. “And you were great and quick with that salt circle.”

Dean chuckled, smirking proudly. “Yeah, we were pretty bad ass in there. That was wild, my bloods STILL pumping!”

“Mine too!”

Dean shook his head, still smiling, before he rolled his eyes. “Those idiots, though—with the damn board? What were they thinking?”

Jason shook his head. “Doesn’t really seem like they were, but they sure as hell regret it now. Thought we would’ve at least earned a thank you kiss from their girl.” He shrugged.

“You actually expect those?” Dean raised a brow, amused, and Jason made a look.

“Uh, yeah. Dads’ gotten enough of them from the single women he saves and even a cheek peck from the married ones, why can’t I get one?” he remarked, and though it was quick, it didn’t escape Dean’s notice how Jason’s eyes flitted down to his lips before returning upward.

Unable to help himself, Dean licked over his lips after the look. He turned his gaze towards the ground, leaning back against the back of the Impala. “Whatever. Kisses ain’t nothing, really…”

“You ever even had one?” Jason laughed, and Dean didn’t look at him, trying to avoid showing in his features or in the heat he felt in his skin that he actually hadn’t had one yet that wasn’t familial.

“Why should I need one? I got the hunt, no point in getting mixed up with drama with girls I’m never even gonna see again.” He commented, shrugging minimally.

Jason was wearing a smirk that, when Dean caught sight of it, irked him. He wanted to punch it right of Jason’s tanned face. “Well, Dean, sometimes it’s worth it. Even if you never see the person again, a good kiss can be very satisfying. Rewarding, even.”

Dean watched him, how he was turning more towards him now, and he wasn’t sure if he were reading it wrong or not, but as much as he was trying NOT to read into it, what flitted through his mind made his blood race a bit faster. Since that experience with the Anthony dude, he’d been trying to ignore any sort of ‘Wow, that dude looks decent’ thoughts that passed through his mind. So he’d completely ignored such initial thoughts upon meeting Jason for the second time; he’d completely ignored how deeply, darkly blue his eyes were, or how full the guys lower lip was.

Now it just seemed to be standing out, and he straightened up, clearing his throat and shrugging. “Y-yeah, I guess…m-maybe.”

“You okay?” Jason asked, inclining his head to get Dean’s attention, which he did.

Dean swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine, just.. Don’t care for this discussion anymore.”

“You seriously haven’t had a first kiss yet?” Jason asked.

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. “No, Jason, I haven’t.”

“You want to?”

That held Dean’s attention completely, though his thoughts and mouth stammered to attempt to cover up what he was really thinking and wanted to respond with. “I think we already established the chick in there ain’t thankful enough to kiss either of us.”

“Did I say you should get it from her?” Jason raised a brow, and as confident as he tried to come off, Dean could tell, there was an underlying nervousness to his suggestive tone.

“…N-no..” Dean responded. He wasn’t facing Jason as the other was facing him, but he certainly wasn’t moving, not even when he noticed Jason inching closer.

“…Do you want to, Dean…?”

He tried to look away, but he couldn’t, feeling his heart practically beating in his throat. “I…I don’t…know…”

Jason hesitated a moment, biting the inside of his lip, glancing down at the gravel at their feet, before looking to Dean hopefully. “…It…it’s just a kiss… No one has to know, and…I mean, it’s...not exactly unappealing to me… What about to you..?”

Dean’s brows furrowed and he swallowed, voice lower. “…I don’t know..”

“Come on, Dean…” Jason was just inches away by now, and Dean couldn’t help his gaze falling to that lower lip, which he noticed was slightly wet.

Dean’s lips parts and he felt himself inching closer more than he actually thought through the actual action.

“…Just...between us?” Jason offered as extra reassurance, but it sounded more like a plea, and Dean found himself giving in with a nod, and finally, they closed the space, Jason initiating enthusiastically, and Dean’s lips moving, unsure but curious and drawn to the thrill of the warmth against his lips. It was like an electric current, keeping Dean drawn there, like he could actually feel the shock if he even though of stopping his lips or pulling away.

Jason was just turning his head into the kiss when someone cleared their throat behind him, and the two boys pulled away like they’d just been truly shocked.

Jason’s father stood there, glaring at the two of them. Dean felt like he’d just had ice cold water dump down his back, the heat falling out of his cheeks. Jason cleared his throat and rubbed over his mouth, moving away from Dean.

“Dad, that…that…” he began, but was cut off.

“What..the hell…got in to you two?” he demanded to know.

Dean looked from the man to his son, mouth opening and closing, but it was Jason who spoke.

“…It..it was…” He looked from Dean, to his dad, to Dean again, and Dean saw that nervousness, what it had truly been, fear. And it was times ten now, making Dean’s stomach drop as Jason looked back to his dad. “…It was Dean, dad, he just got confused and weird on me, I…I don’t know what he was doing, I was trying not to be...not to be a dick, you know how those kinda people get confused, I just… I’m sorry, dad, I’m…” he glanced back and forth a last time, between his dad and Dean, lowering his head with guilt, “…I’m sorry.”

Dean just stared at him, not even caring for the feeling, much less the look, of the older hunters’ death glare. He felt such utter betrayal, he felt like an absolute idiot. He went from hurt and betrayed and a little freaked, to absolutely pissed. “…You should be, asshole.”

“Enough.” The older man snapped, pointing a finger at Dean. “Be glad I don’t tell your father about this…shit. You keep your filthy tongue away from my son, boy. And you better rethink the life you’re living, or you’ll regret it down the road.” He took Jason by the back of his shirt collar and pushed him along to their car, shooting Dean a last warning glance. Jason didn’t dare look back at Dean as he retreated with his father.

Dean thought he could pity Jason for what he had to endure, with a father with such opinions, and maybe pitying him would be far more wounding than his anger. But Dean himself had been wounded, and anger was all he could feel, no matter how he wanted to feel otherwise.

When John had finally made his way back to the car, asking why the others hadn’t waited to say goodbye, Dean shrugged and said he thought maybe Jason’s dad got another call. He rubbed his mouth, spat on the ground, and got in the Impala without any further comment.

 

Of course, not long after that, he’d been away from his father and Sam awhile, at that boys home, and he’d met a girl, and he’d forgotten all about it. He realized he liked the soft press of girls’ lips, the sweet smells of them, the gentle touch, and that twinkle in their eyes.

He decided, after that kiss, and the ones following once his dad picked him up again and he left her behind, that he’d just been confused. Yeah, that was it, just confusion. That’s what he told himself and he was able to convince himself of that for a little while.

It was easier to convince himself when John was around, the man a constant reminder of what Dean needed to be. Sam’s protector, Sam’s caretaker, John’s obedient and competent soldier. There was barely room for child-hood or adolescent nonsense, so Dean knew how to hide things, keep to himself, keep that whole other side of himself in a corner to only let it out when John was gone.

The only problem was that, whenever John was gone, or was not so heavily present or bearing down on him, it gave Dean chance to touch base on those thoughts he’d banished. Like when his father was talking up a witness or with a fellow hunter in a local bar or restaurant, and Dean was told to just keep an eye out for anything weird when not offering his own theories or questions. He never caught much of anything worrisome on cases (there had been a suspect looking old guy who had scurried out suspiciously on one hunt), but he did catch a few wandering gazes of men just slightly older than him, some he almost thought got into the bar with fake ideas because he could _tell_ they were his age. Sometimes he just caught one of them staring. Others, he caught their gazes and found their looks seeming very approving. One blonde dude, surely around his age, winked.

Well, John was right there, so Dean did his best to just ignore and dismiss and stay focused on the hunt, the job at hand.

 

But, as he grew more and more into himself over the years, the looks and gazes, and even fleeting flirtations become more and more constant. Dean definitely took it as a nice ego boost; he had eyes on him from both genders, giving him at least some amount of physical, superficial worth.

He had been doing his best to deny himself the chance to return flirtations from anyone not harboring breasts. Sure, he might shoot a smirk or a look if he caught someone watching him, but it was never an honest effort, not like how he’d flirt with the ladies and actually pursue them.

John had even caught him when he’d fleetingly flirted with some dude, more in a teasing nature, and when Dean felt the judgment and question from his father, he’d had to try and excuse it away as just sarcasm, tried to convince him that he didn’t mean any of it. It took Dean adamantly assuring his father he wasn’t a ‘priss’, for John to finally mostly let it go.

 

So Dean knew there was no way his father would accept those thoughts he’d been consistently hiding, so he kept hiding them. Even more so as Sam was growing more and more into himself and his attitude and personality. The fights were brewing more amongst the three of them, more often just Sam and his father, because Sam had none of Dean’s absolute obedience; Sam would question more than Dean ever had, and unless their father pulled that no-bullshit tone and volume, Sam would push for a reason that was good enough in his own opinion, for why he should do this or believe that or forget this or accept that. And his skills as a hunter, before even getting out on a real hunt, were already brimming.

It was then Dean was really realizing just how much, despite their predisposition for disagreeing with one another, that John saw himself in Sam. He saw himself in Sam just as much as Sam did not want to see it or even admit to it. Dean could almost swear, if John wasn’t so adamant on his orders that Sam  always questioned, he would almost be proud of how hard Sam argued against him, if he wasn’t somehow still proud underneath it all anyways.

Sam so effortless embodied what John wanted from his children; just like him, an efficient, adaptable, independent soldier with plenty of intelligence to take care of himself and on the other end of it, that desire for a normal life and the potential for it.

Dean knew, Sam was John’s favorite. Dean knew Sam, despite how much he seemed to hate their father, somehow effortlessly just…WAS everything their father wanted and needed. While Dean, he had to try, every day, to be and continue to be what he thought his father needed. And somehow, Dean still wasn’t good enough. That was apparent, by the bruises he’d gone to bed with once or twice when it had been Sam and his father who had fought. But whatever. It kept John from taking it out on Sam, and Dean almost told himself maybe his father had needed to get it out. He told himself that a few times. Sometimes he believed it.

But Sam had ran off again, and though Dean found him sooner this time than the last and brought him back, his father and brother were at each other’s throats so much that Dean couldn’t even manage to get either of them to see sense. Sam was talking about how soon enough, he’d be of the right age for collage. He’d done enough school to graduate, and he just had to put forth the work and effort and the right collage would accept him. Sam was talking about leaving, and that was when Dean honestly couldn’t be sure whether his father hated Sam’s desire to leave and abandon them more, or if he hated this entire life so much that he felt Sam shouldn’t or couldn’t have that when he still wanted that for Sam.

John had gone out for beers, Dean had been on Sam-Watch and was thankful Sam was done trying to run, for now. But when he heard the swerve of the Impala outside as Sam snored, he’d gone outside to see his father had drove back to the abandoned home, drunk off his ass.

All Dean had tried to do was tell him to not go in there to Sam like this. All he tried to do was to tell him to be careful how many drinks he has before he drives. All he did was try to make sure nothing got worse.

And he guessed he kinda still did that. Even if his back and ribs and arm were still pounding, he thought he’d still helped. But once the drunk had passed out, and Dean knew neither of them would be waking anytime soon, he had made his own run for it. He wasn’t sure where he was going, if he’d be back, and what he’d even do. He took a little money, one of their phones, a knife and gun in the duffel he was carrying with some clothes, and he just kept walking until he reached a diner.

He really had no idea what he was doing. But his body hurt too much to sleep, and he felt the anxiety twisting his stomach into such deep knots that he either needed to eat to cover it up, or barf to get it out but either way, he wasn’t sleeping with that queasiness either.

He’d spent the entire time walking, trying to convince himself to go back, because his dad just did the best he could. That’s all he tried to do, and the drinks were just to help him cope. The violence was just so he didn’t do worse. He tried, he tried to convince himself. He also tried to convince himself, when his excuses for his father were failing, that Sam would be different—better. But Dean was fearing he wouldn’t. And he knew, he’d be walking right back, he couldn’t leave, he wasn’t able. Not like Sam. He’d left once, and not even on purpose when he’d stayed at that home for boys, and look where that got him? Right back home.

He wanted Sam to be different, but he really wasn’t sure he would be, once he got past this school stuff, if he ever did. So where did that leave Dean? He couldn’t wait for the day his damn father dropped from a monster or something different, for him to be able to stop suffocating himself, because would Sam even accept him?

Hell, Sam wanted collage. He wouldn’t be there to accept or not accept him. And he seemed to half hate him most the time anyways, so what did Dean expect?

Sometimes, Dean wished he could have died in the fire with his mother.

“…Hey there, sir…?” he heard then, and looked around.

He’d been in the booth a few minutes and someone had already taken his order, he’d already been brought a coke and he was waiting for a simple order of burger and fries when he’d heard that. It wasn’t until he noticed the guy sitting up at the counter on a stool was turned towards him, and seemed to be the owner of the voice that had addressed him.

It was the brown of his eyes and the distantly familiar curve of his lips that caught Dean, and twisted that anxiety to bloom in his stomach into something more vibrant and warm and just as uncomfortable. He still wasn’t sure, but as he took in the more detailed tat’s peeking out of the collar of this dudes basic black tee, and took in the stronger but familiar jawline, he was beginning to wonder just what the coincidences really were.

“…Me?” he asked stupidly, as he took in the addition of piercings since last he saw this guy, like the loop around his lip and the stud in his brow, and the red-purple of this guys’ hair that seemed black at the roots but colored the more it grew out.

The guy laughed. “Yeah…yeah, do I…know you? You seem really familiar, but I could be…way off.”

Dean wanted to both tell this guy he was probably spot on in his assumption, but he also felt the need to head right back to his father and brother with the ideas and wants and thoughts bursting forth right now. Damn this guy for turning up, because he just pulled that hidden part of Dean right out of his little corner with that smooth, deep tone. Dean’s mouth quirked a bit as he looked down at his coke, and then back up at the guy. “…Uh, well...butterfly knife…?” he offered.

The smile that spread on the guys features confirmed it for them both, and Dean ignored all those warnings about crossing people more than once if they weren’t hunters or victims in need of help again. His hunter instincts tried to tell him this could be a problem, a threat. But he wouldn’t believe it. Because he didn’t want this to be bad. Why did it have to be bad? Why couldn’t it…HE…just…be?

The guy, Anthony, hopped down from his spot, bringing his drink with him as he came over, only stopping just before sitting. “May I?”

Dean didn’t hesitate to nod, and Anthony slid right in across him in the booth. “Anthony, right?” he asked, not that he needed to. He was sure.

He nodded, still smiling. “Dean?”

Dean nodded to confirm, and just laughed. “Man, what are the chances…” he asked, more of himself than of Anthony.

“I know, right? You just vanished out of nowhere, I assumed I’d never see you around again.” Anthony admitted, and Dean could tell from his tone, he’d probably kept an eye out for Dean just as much as Dean had for him back then.

“Yeah…we had to, uh, get moving short notice. Sorry about that.” Dean excused, not even wanting to mention his brother or father much right now unless he really had to.

Anthony nodded, but something in his stare was still accusatory. “Yeah, I just assumed I’d just flopped…”

Dean raised a brow. “Meaning?”

Anthony looked him up and down, considering his answer before giving it, and Dean noticed how his upper lip rubbed over his piercing faintly. “I, uh…” he laughed, shrugging, “I’d thought you were cute and was hoping to hang out. Thought I’d flop, that it wasn’t mutual, when you just vanished.”

Dean felt surprised and envious of how easy it was for this guy to just…admit his interest, because he’d just blatantly called Dean cute, already setting a tone for the kind of hanging out he’d wanted. Sure, he’d hesitated to say it, but it didn’t get choked in his throat as it would have Dean’s.

When Dean was silent too long, Anthony shifted a little in his seat. “…Was I right? I know, I probably just…read you wrong, my, uh…’perception’ wasn’t as acute back then.” He laughed again.

Dean hesitated to answer, struggling to find a way to just smooth his way through this, but he felt way too nervous and conflicted as he tried to force the truth out, the back of his neck heated and his heart pounding (he wanted to slap himself because damn, how many bases had he gotten to with chicks thus far in his twenty years? How smooth and confident was he getting with them? And he was fumbling to just admitting attraction right now?). He forced a laugh. “I, uh…no, you weren’t wrong, not completely.”

Anthony’s smile softened at that, and he inclined his head as he asked, “Not completely..?”

Dean looked out the window, as his food was brought then and he smiled and thanked the waitress, considering stuffing his face, but he was too sure it might just end up coming right back up if he tried right now. “Just…just back then, I…I, um, didn’t really…”

“You weren’t out.” Anthony assessed and Dean felt his face flushing before he cleared his throat.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Technically….’aren’t’ is a more accurate word.”

Anthony nodded in understanding and Dean wasn’t sure if he was thankful for it or if he’d rather be annoyed with the pity that this guy was sure to feel for him.

He looked out the window to the road he’d walked to get here, and considered booking it. Everything was screaming at him to, now, because he’d never talked about this. That time with Jason didn’t count, because Jason was a piece of shit who screwed him over, and they’d been talking about kissing in general. This was the shit Dean had been burying because he knew he couldn’t really talk to anyone and he wondered if he was screwing himself over, allowing himself to talk now because maybe once he was back with his family, he wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore. He should run. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to keep talking, and he wanted to keep talking with Anthony, who didn’t seem as if he was considering leaving.

“Well…I don’t know who’s told you this so far, if anyone…and I know how sometimes your life around you makes it hard to believe and remember, but…if you feel those things…it’s not wrong to.” Anthony spoke then, and when Dean scoffed, Anthony didn’t falter. “Come on, society assumes everyone is attracted to the opposite gender all the time, and that’s perfectly fine, no matter your age. It’s no different, honestly. The only difference is the object of attraction has some different plumbing, that’s the only difference that no one seems to be able to get over. Hey.”

Dean’s gaze had fallen as he’d shaken his head, but he looked back to the other man then, and he saw how intent Anthony was on having Dean believe what he’d hidden away in that corner wasn’t wrong. Dean felt that blooming feeling pulse a little somewhere in between his anxiety ridden stomach and his pounding chest.

“Some people might like cats more than dogs, might prefer them, but in society, it isn’t deemed unholy and reprimandable for the next person to prefer dogs, is it? Finding comfort and friendship in a pet is as normal as finding attraction in other people. If it’s no different for you to prefer a lazy fucking feline over a dopey dog, if it’s not reprimandable to be different in that aspect, why should it be when it comes to attraction or love, right?”

Dean nodded, but then couldn’t help but laugh.

Anthony was confused at first, hoping he’d gotten his point across, but seemed at least grateful Dean was laughing. “What?”

“N-nothing, I just find it funny you choose that as your comparison…”

“Why?”

“I’m allergic to cats.”

They both laughed, unable to help themselves, and the laughter eased some of Dean’s anxiety. He set forth to at least TRY and eat some of his meal before it got cold, only briefly explaining what he was doing here as Anthony did the same, the other man talking about how he was road-tripping (the real kind), and he ended up offering the rest to Anthony when he couldn’t finish it.

When they finished up, Dean paid and grabbed his bag, Anthony offering to walk out with him. It felt too natural to really question, when they were walking towards Anthony’s car, as when Dean admitted he’d walked there, the man hadn’t hesitated to offer him a ride. Dean didn’t want to question any of this, because he knew the moment he did, it would be the moment that he couldn’t take it.

The only question between them after Dean stowed his bag in the floorboard of the guys mustang was Anthony asking where Dean was staying.

Dean didn’t answer with where, though. “I’m not going home yet. I don’t want to.”

Anthony glanced to him, but nodded, and just drove, having enough gas to do so mindlessly without worry for a while. “Is there anywhere you want to go? Anything you want to do?”

The last question caused so many scenarios of want that spiked Dean’s blood pressure, his heart pounding briefly quicker as he considered if this situation was right, for either of them. He just forced a laugh. “I…I honestly don’t know, man. I’m trying to just act and feel normal…I mean, normal like I’ve been told is normal, you know? But I don’t want to, I-I’ve kept it in so long, I just…need to…” he sighed and shook his head, trying to make sense to his own self and doubting he was making sense to Anthony.

He’d sat back and shut his eyes, shaking his head as he tried to make sense of the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions inside him, so he didn’t notice they’d stopped until he felt the car halt and heard it shut off. He looked to Anthony, that hunter-precaution spawning panic.

But as he saw the reassuring look on Anthony’s face, he calmed a bit, though he still asked, “…What are we doing?”

“Look, we don’t…have to do anything, but it’s obvious, you have so much pent up, I mean…have you…even…kissed another guy…?” he tried to ask carefully without sounding offensive, and he seemed worried he had offended, when Dean’s reaction turned faintly sour at the question.

“…Once. It was shit, though. The experience, I mean. A…friend,” hunting asshole acquaintance, “I knew him through our fathers, he…we talked about kissing and he kind of convinced me to kiss him. Asshole was too closet and afraid, when his dad caught us, he blamed it all on me and I felt like I was lucky not to have my ass kicked by his dad.”

“I’m sorry about that, Dean.” Anthony said with sympathy in his voice.

Dean just shrugged and shook his head.

There was brief silence, before he heard Anthony unclick his seatbelt and he looked to him as he faced him. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Dean. But to me, it…seems like you’ve stuffed it all away, for too long and way too deep… Maybe you just…need to experience it a little, in a place and situation where no one will…will hate you for it. If that just sounds stupid or pointless to you, I understand, but… I’ve been where you’re at. Earlier than you, maybe, but still…I’ve been there, and it sucks ass, and if I could give you some sort of comfort for the fact that there’s nothing wrong with being a damn gorgeous guy that likes guys and girls, than I’m more than willing to-mm!”

That bloom had burst too strongly for Dean to hold back and he decided to not let Anthony finish. Because it made sense, right now. It made sense and he wanted it, he wanted to try it, he wanted to feel it, all of it, without hiding anymore. His lips had pressed so suddenly to Anthony’s, and it felt kind of like how it had with Jason, electricity, but a different level of warmth, and it was…somehow way more satisfying. Anthony hummed against Dean’s lip, and it felt like a slow jolt through Dean’s body, raising soft bumps on his skin just from the satisfied sound. Dean turned his head to deepen the kiss, and felt a slender fingered hand reach to cup his jaw, holding him there gingerly and it just made him lean closer, letting loose his own satisfied hum, glad it was muffled by their kiss because it sounded as if he had almost faded into a whimper.

Because damn, this is what he’d been missing. Sure, he enjoyed kissing chicks, but damn he’d not had chance for this enough. Anthony’s lips were soft, too, in their own way, but they were firmer somehow, in their movement. His smell was a different, warm smell. Girls smelled like flowers and home and sweets. Anthony smelled like the road, spices and steel, like that old but damn satisfying cabin he and his dad and brother had found and hid away in, taking a nice break from hunting there because they got snowed in.

God, he just wanted to kiss him for hours, he wondered if they could and when Anthony pulled away slowly he feared maybe he was hoping for nothing. He followed after him with a slightly breathless sigh, eyes flitting open in confusion. Anthony’s smile was coy yet kind, knowing, and he leaned forward again, but his lips didn’t meet Dean’s as the man wanted. Instead, they fell to Dean’s jaw; the press of his lips were firm, sure as he kissed the line of Dean’s jaw, skimming down to his neck and Dean let out a shuddered breath.

Fuck, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been kissed like this before, right? I mean, ladies had wandered their lips all over. But it always felt so feather-light and teasing, sometimes unsure, and it was cute and their lips were warm. But Anthony’s lips were firm and sure, they knew where to kiss and how, as was made apparent as they found that warm spot between Dean’s neck and collar bone and sucked hard with a hum.

“S-shit,mmmm.” Dean muttered, hand shooting to grasp Anthony’s collar, tugging him closer as Anthony briefly flicked his tongue over the spot, sending a shudder down Dean’s spine.

Dean sighed, nipping at Anthony’s ear and earning a somewhat louder hum, especially when he started nipping down his neck. When he reached the tattoo’s, he kissed even more appreciatively yet attentively, his tongue flicking out across the lines.

“Dean.” Anthony sighed so softly and Dean scooted closer just from that sound, even with the glove compartment still between them.

Dean needed to lips again though, because this was making him too warm all over and he wasn’t sure what he could take doing or having done to rectify what those chills and waves of heat would cause from him.

He caught Anthony’s lower lip, giving it a suck and nip, and when Anthony moaned at that and pressed himself towards Dean, Dean worried he’d definitely have a problem that he’d undeniably need dealt with. Their chest’s pressed as Anthony leaned over the space between them, grasping the back of Dean’s neck, the fine hairs there.

It was when Anthony’s tongue slipped to graze Dean’s bottom lip, and the man’s hand slip from his neck down towards his chest, settling there yet still slipping further, Dean knew he’d need more. He wasn’t sure how much he could handle, but he knew he needed.

“A-Anthony..” he grunted against the others lips, unable to pull his away to properly speak as he kissed deeper, hungrier. His other hand reached to grasp the side of Anthony’s shirt, tugging it as his other tugged the collar.

Anthony hummed and faintly nodded into their kiss, pulling away and letting Dean catch his breath as his hand glided lower, his lips kissing so knowingly, firmly, and yet softly over Dean’s throat and his breath shuddered.

Dean had had enough hand-job’s, had masturbated enough, that he could say this was beyond them all. He was well aware, though, that it was probably just his stunted need finally being satisfied after years of stifling, but Anthony’s hand had moved so perfectly, held him so tight. Dean was warm and aching and pulsing and writhing into the touch, he lost track of how many times he’d whimpered. He’d stopped trying to force them to be groans, and something told him Anthony understood, he didn’t mind; if anything, he liked it just fine.

When that last tight few strokes finally brought him over, Dean had to wonder through the haze of pleasure how his father or society or people in general could ever tell him that this was anything other than natural, human pleasure. Because damn, it was the best orgasm he could even remember, and he was fumblingly eager to return the favor once he’d got his bearings enough. But Anthony was assuring him he didn’t have to, apparently being far too considerate and Dean considered shutting him up with a rough kiss and offering anyways when they both became aware of the phone going off in the floorboard.

And like that, he felt it all vanish from him. His breath actually left him as he did up his pants. He distantly heard Anthony assuring him it was okay. He wasn’t sure what Anthony was even reassuring him was okay, and almost thought maybe Anthony didn’t know either, but he just tried to calm himself, fearing the stern voice on the other end as he answered.

“Dean?”

He sighed when he registered Sam’s voice and he sat back, shutting his eyes and resting his head back against the seat. “Yeah, Sammy…”

“Where are you? Dad’s passed out, I got up to get something to eat and you were gone. I called a few times but you didn’t-”

“You really have a place to get pissed, Sam? Really?” Dean snapped a little irritably, brows furrowing.

“…No, I guess I don’t.”

“Look, I’m fine. I just went for a supply run, I’ll…I’ll be back soon.” His eyes flitted open and he glanced to Anthony to see him watching him before looking away. Dean sighed, shaking his head. “Just don’t wake dad. Go back to sleep or something, I’m fine…”

“…Alright Dean.”

The call ended and Dean quite roughly tossed his phone into his bag, zipping it back up, until he saw a silver gleam, and knowing what it was, he reached in and pulled out the butterfly knife as Anthony spoke.

“Do I need to take you back?” he asked pretty calmly, given the situation.

“…Yeah, I guess…” Dean nodded, wrapping his fingers around the knife as Anthony started up the car. Dean glanced to the man’s lap and to his face and back. “…What about you, man?”

Anthony flushed a bit but laughed awkwardly. “Ah..I’ll be…I’ll be fine Dean, don’t worry.”

“But what you….what you did for me—”

“That was for you. I’m not expecting more from you, Dean, it’s alright.” His voice was reassuring and Dean was annoyed and thankful at the same time. But as he thought of trying to help another guy get off, he felt a tremble in his hands because fuck, he wasn’t sure he could even manage that, at least not well the first time. So maybe it was for the best.

“…Right.” He just nodded, and he didn’t say or do much else other than give Anthony the right address, just a bus-stop not far from where the building was. He questioned what he’d do now with himself (definitely get a change of clothes, he was thankful it was night and there were few working lights in the old house they were staying in so maybe if anyone was still awake, they would see the slight mess of him). What would he do about Anthony, hell, because they’d be leaving soon. Did he just leave him hanging again, because they couldn’t have trouble or baggage? Did he get Anthony’s number so maybe they could at least stay in touch? Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to just…leave this, like it never happened. But there wasn’t much else he could do, could he? Because he sure as hell couldn’t come out to his dad, or anyone for that matter. He could no longer deny it after this experience, at least not to himself, and he wasn’t sure whether or not he’d be regretful or thankful for that.

Finally, they stopped by the bus stop, Dean checking he had his wallet and phone stashed away.

“Dean?”

He looked to Anthony, who watched him with sympathy and a certain level of care that Dean wasn’t sure their brief acquaintance warranted—wasn’t sure he, period, warranted. “Yeah…?”

“You’ll be alright. This is alright, you know..? Feeling…” he tried and Dean just nodded. He watched Dean with this look, this look that told him he knew this may be the last time he saw Dean, and Dean didn’t bother confirming or denying that.

Instead, he scrolled through the contacts on his phone, put in his name, and handed the phone over without a word.

Anthony took the phone carefully, putting in his number and then saving and handing it back. Though they both had seemed intent on not addressing the possibility that this could very well be goodbye, he went on to say, “Text me…if you ever need someone to talk to, alright? Just, you know, remember to let me know it’s you.” He laughed.

Dean nodded with a small smile, not looking to him as he unfolded his hand, and started flicking the butterfly knife about in his grasp, releasing the blade and then flipping it sheathed once again.

Anthony chuckled. “Show off.” He commented, looking from the weapon to Dean with similar fondness. Dean looked to him, and decided he wouldn’t leave right away.

He wasn’t sure why, if it was to return the favor or to show off and impress or what, but he spent the rest of his time with Anthony showing him how the use the knife, the flip it open, how to handle it without hurting himself. Once he’d got the hang of it enough, Anthony trying to hand it back, but Dean just pushed it at him with a small smile.

Then he launched forth, planting a last kissing, stealing a touch through the man’s hair, a final touch just grasping and carding through the strands, before he was gone out of the car and heading back with the duffel hung on his shoulder.

He knew, he wouldn’t ever get that again, not how he wanted. Not openly, not happily. He couldn’t even have a girl around for more than a fling, with his life, much less a guy if that’s who he ended up wanting. He knew, as he got home to find Sam just falling back off into sleep, his father slobbering with a beer bottle spilled on his chest, he knew….he wouldn’t ever have anything he wanted outside of this…this room right here, this life, these two people he called family.

He couldn’t have that. Dad had had it, and had it been taken. Sam was determined to get it and Dean honestly wasn’t sure if his dad was going to keep fighting it or not. But Dean… he may be a disappointment, but he was the disappointment his dad depended on. He couldn’t leave this life, he couldn’t leave his dad, and he couldn’t leave his brother.

He couldn’t have what he’d just had minutes ago. But he could be thankful for those stolen moments, if they ever happened again, right? He’d keep his time with Anthony tucked away, remembered, treasured.

He couldn’t have that but he could manage. Because as he settled in the arm chair after a brief wash and chance of clothes, he knew, this was all he had. And he couldn’t, wouldn’t let it go. Family was all he had.

Family was all he had. And it would be all he’d need. He didn’t have another choice.


End file.
